


A Sufficient Replacement

by Arrestzelle



Series: Rammstein Requests [13]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: Alternate Universe - Keine Lust, Couch Cuddles, Disabled Character, Drabble Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:40:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24333766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrestzelle/pseuds/Arrestzelle
Summary: Set in the Keine Lust universe, Flake and Till end up cuddling.
Relationships: Till Lindemann/Christian Lorenz | Flake
Series: Rammstein Requests [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1523702
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	A Sufficient Replacement

**Author's Note:**

> This was a request (kinda) for an anon on Tumblr.

“I’m just fed up with it, Flake.”

“Yes, yes, I know. How sad it is to be covered in women…To—to be respected as a man, to have wealth and good looks. My heart bleeds for you, Till, truly.”

Till eyes him. Perched in his motorized wheelchair, Flake is on his laptop, focused with a furrow in his brow and a frown on his lips. His hair is getting longer, Till can tell. It rests more on his chest now, rather than merely his shoulders. He’s wearing a pair of black pants and an obnoxiously-patterned button-up with rolled sleeves. The rapid typing of Flake’s slim fingers fill in the stagnant silence of the living room— _Till’s_ grand living room. Meanwhile, Till himself is perched on the large, leather sectional positioned before the equally massive TV. To their right, a liquor bar with a wild assortment of liquor and accompanying necessities. To their left, a limitless view beyond the broad wall made of glass. Yet, all Till can focus on is the cranky man with fibromyalgia.

“Oh, come on,” Till begins, “You had that chance last week with the blonde and turned her down—even after I arranged it for you!”

That actually earns a sharp glance from piercing blue eyes beyond the raised screen of his laptop. Till cocks a brow at him challengingly. Flake scoffs.

“You can’t be serious. Why would I want some woman in that way? It’s not like she really wanted to. She was only willing because of your instruction. That doesn’t get me going, Till, believe it or not. You should understand that considering how often you express your displeasure with everything—about the superficiality of your life. Of sex.”

A faint smile graces Till’s lips. He places his cigar in his ash tray.

“If you don’t want a beautiful, busty woman who is willing to play, then who do you want, Flake? I imagine nothing and no one could possibly be better than that.”

Flake shakes his head. He begins typing again. Till smirks. He already knows the answer—he simply enjoys toying with him.

“Is today a bad day, or a good day?” Till asks then, earning another flick of those blue eyes. Flake squints at him.

Till gestures to the wheelchair vaguely with two thick fingers. Flake exhales heavily. He places his hands on the arm rests of his wheelchair. A deeper frown pulls at his mouth.

“I could stand,” he mumbles, “If that’s what you mean.”

“Why don’t you?” Till muses with a slight grin growing across his face, “And come on over to me. You’re a bit far, and I’m lonely over here.”

“I don’t know if I’m a sufficient replacement to a ‘beautiful, busty woman’.”

“You’re not a sufficient replacement. You’re a better one.”

Flake makes a face. Till chuckles, shaking with the force of it. He pats the space beside him on the couch. Flake huffs, raising a slim hand to push his thick-framed glasses further up his nose. He deftly types a finishing thought on his laptop, and then closes the lid. Curling long fingers around the joystick, Flake’s wheelchair whirs quietly as he crosses the distance between himself and the sectional. Then he locks the wheels, pushes the small connected table out of his way, and plants his hands on the arm rests for stability. He rises, albeit unsteadily with a furrowed brow and shaking arms. Till holds out a hand. Once he’s on his feet, Flake reaches out to clutch it. Till is his source of equilibrium, as always.

He drops onto the seat beside Till with a harsh sigh. Till immediately draws his thick arm around his shoulders. Flake shyly ducks his head. Till squeezes him around the bicep gently, fingers lost in the folds of his soft button-up shirt.

“Is it the wheelchair, or my sorry excuse for a body that attracts you, Till?” Flake begins wryly, graced by that typical self-depreciation disguised with sarcasm. He drops his head down against Till’s chest, ear to his heart. He continues in a mumble, “I’ve been thinking of ‘pimping’ up my ride, actually. Maybe that will increase my chances.”

Till laughs again, deep and rumbling. He raises his hand to begin stroking at that longer hair—it’s deceivingly soft, curling around his big fingers. Flake is silent. He draws a skinny arm around Till’s large belly, and squeezes tightly. Till gazes down at Flake’s curled up legs, long and lean in those black slacks.

“Everything but the wheelchair. I don’t care much about that thing. But I do care about the man who needs it.”

“Oh, shut it,” Flake grumbles. Till can _hear_ the flustered embarrassment in his voice. He chuckles again. Flake is particularly bony and small against him, whereas Till is plentiful and soft. Flake is weak, Till is strong. Finding drive and joy in life is simple for Flake despite the unfortunate hand it has dealt him—yet, despite his privilege, not so much for Till. They may be complete opposites, but Till admires everything that Flake is, and everything about him that Till, himself, is not. Flake may be weaker physically, but he is infinitely stronger than Till could ever dream to be.

**Author's Note:**

> babypaulchen.tumblr.com


End file.
